


Full Circle

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Late Night Conversations, i cant believe i wrote onision fanfiction, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Shane has a talk with the last person he would want it with.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8
Collections: Anonymous





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in a stream of consciousness lmfao  
> hot take: onision looks like shane but pointy
> 
> disclaimer: I do not condone the actions of Onision or Shane Dawson, I literally wrote this as an excuse for them to roast each other and be overdramatic since people are making the comparisons between them now

He likes to think that, for someone who’s been on the Internet for as long as he has, he’s grown a pretty thick skin. He feels like it must have been a part of why he had gotten quite far, going from honing his image to an edge to being one of the proclaimed kings of YouTube— something he himself still couldn’t fully process sometimes.

And for all his time toeing on the lines and boundaries, he manages to not topple over. For each controversy he’s been in, he always thinks he’s hit the breaking point for the Internet, only to come out essentially unscathed and the dirt they find gets buried again. Until now. Shane had figured he‘s finally found the point, and boy did something break loose. 

He's seen backlash, but this level was something new. It was enough that he could feel the heat pierce through his screen and onto his skin. 

That's not to say he _didn't_ deserve some of it. He's not that stupid to think he wasn't an asshole once for his entire YouTube career. Still, though, he thinks as gets out of the bed, it would be a lie if he said that the fallout hadn't smacked him in the face with the force of a battering ram. 

It was silent throughout the entire house, everything engulfed in near darkness. The bed felt bigger than usual, and nothing stirred when Shane had stepped out of the room. He’s almost numb as he slowly walks down the hall, feeling as if he were gliding when he goes down the stairs. When he gets to the bottom, the living room’s almost pitch black.

Almost. He notices that a bit of light is coming from the kitchen area. So naturally, that’s where he goes to, even though the closer he got, the less it felt like a safe haven, and more like the light of an angler fish whose jaw he’s walking into.

Shane stops in his tracks when he finally notices a man sitting at the kitchen island, hunched over a bottle. 

“What the fuck,” Shane mutters under his breath.

Though it must have been loud enough. The man turns his head to face him and grins, looking sinister in the dim lighting. His dark hair is slightly longer, perhaps slightly greasier, than Shane remembered. His bared teeth almost resembled fangs.

“Long time, no see.”

“The hell are you doing,” Shane growls.

“Oh, I just wanted to talk.” Greg spoke casually as if they were fucking friends. He makes a beckoning gesture to Shane before letting out a chuckle. “Why don’t you have a seat over here?”

Shane narrows his eyes at the stupid grin on his face.

Maybe it's because it just wasn't worth the energy and effort to get rid of him. Maybe it's because a part of him is wondering what on earth they could talk about. Or maybe it's because he's as stupid as him. But instead of doing the logical thing like grabbing Onion Boy by the hair and throwing him out of the house, Shane feels his legs slowly propel himself forward against his will to sit on the chair adjacent from him; although, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the worst decision he’s made all week. Once settled, he watches as Greg takes another swig from his bottle.

“How do you drink that stuff?” Shane asks while Greg wipes the stray drops of kombucha with his sleeve.

“Acquired taste. You should try some. I know you‘re not really the picture of health, but... y’know.”

Shane feels his ears burn. “Oh right. I should be taking advice from you and your ‘vegetarian boday’.”

“Suit yourself.” The smugness in his voice almost made Shane change his mind about not throwing him out of the house. 

“You said you wanted to talk,” he says, trying to maintain his composure. “So go off.”

Greg raises his always-arched eyebrows. “Gladly. For starters,” he begins with a flourish, “You seem to be a... very topical subject, as of lately.”

Shane scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And what's it to you? You know I’ve been in the hot seat before.”

Greg smirks, unconvinced by the display of bravado. “It might as well be on fire. All that shit cropping up on you.” He began to laugh, shaking his head. “Wow, what the fuck was up with you back then, you and your sick little—“

“It was a different time,” Shane snaps at him. “You’re one to talk, basically doing the same crap.” His outburst left Greg’s amused expression unchanged, which didn’t help Shane’s mood.

Shane takes a deep breath before pointing a finger at him. “You, of all people should know, especially since you still seem to, what, be stuck in 2012?” he says in a more controlled tone.

“Sure. Whatever you say. Go ahead and call me an emo fuck.”

“I’d say it’s more of a hobo I’m looking at right now.”

“Bold with all those holes in your shirt?”

Shane fights the urge to look down at himself, pretty sure that he’s wearing one of his less... distressed items of clothing.

“And besides, I, _of all people_ ,” Greg continues, “had managed to figure out what kind of person you were a long time ago. I just think it's nice to see that everyone is finally seeing it my way.”

“Well I’m sure when you constantly fling your shit at the walls, something is bound to stick.”

Greg shrugs before taking another drink. Neither of them say anything more, leaving Shane to mull over his thoughts in the silence. Recounting the events of that past week, having seen the comments and videos pumped out speculating and fitting everything together to form the conclusion that everyone would inevitably draw- it was a conclusion that, in hindsight, he can see that he laid out for himself, as disgusting as it is. The uproar was... pretty proportional, as a result. Perhaps the clown sitting next to him could offer some insight, if he was so willing to talk about him. Might as well make use of his presence, other than talking trash to one another.

“People are saying I’m turning into you,” Shane blurts out.

Greg looks unphased by this information. “And? I thought that used to be part of our shtick.”

Shane narrows his eyes. “What do you mean ‘our’ shtick, when you were the one carrying it? You made, like, fifty videos about me for every one time I even mention you. You're welcome for the views, by the way.”

Still clutching the bottle, Greg waved his free hand with a small laugh. “Not even that. We were in the same boat, weren't we? Making shit that was trying to, how would you put it, push the boundaries of offensiveness, all that 'edgy' crap and whatnot. And it was funny. Everyone used to eat it up back then.”

"Yeah, I know. I fucking know." Shane rubs his temples before saying, "And it's not cool now. I don't-- It shouldn't be cool in the first place. I grew past that. I'm not--"

"'Like that anymore?' Is that why you had to make three apology videos?"

Shane let out a huff. "At least I felt bad and wanted to change. I bet you never once felt fucking sorry for all the shit you did."

Greg swirled his drink nonchalantly. “Hm. 'Change.' That's what you say,” he says, gesturing with his bottle. “You know we both have taken the piss out of Eugenia Cooney, but somehow I'm still the one that gets the fire for it. So much for keeping it real, I guess.”

“Oh, it must be so hard, Mr. ‘Most Honest Person on YouTube.’”

“At least everyone knows I'm upfront about my shittiness and haven’t been hiding under a cutesy little facade." Greg is giving him a cold stare. "Looking into the camera with those big, green, sad eyes, saying things that mean fuck all and knowing full well they mean fuck all. Isn't that right, Shanaynay?" He ends the question with a faux sweet smile. 

Shane's gaze is now fixed on his own hands on the table, his tongue stuck in his cheek. Greg turns his attention back to his bottle and sighs.

“Maybe in the next apology, you could cry some more," Greg says, taking another swig. "Give us more of a show."

Shane looks directly at him. "Maybe I'll take a page from you-- y'know, dump kombucha on myself and cry in the shower if you want a show so badly."

Greg snorts into his drink.

“What’s up with you, anyway?" Shane asks, thinking it's his turn to probe answers from him. Greg looks at him with interest. "Still under investigation?”

He scoffs. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Gee, it's not like I'm the one who’s had Chris fucking Hansen on my ass.”

“From the looks of it, he could be on yours, too— you know damn well why people are saying you're turning into me.”

It was quiet for a minute before Shane speaks again. 

“Well, maybe by then, you’ll file a case against the right one.”

“Funny.”

Greg leans towards him.

“And you know what’s also funny?" he asks in a low, smug tone. "Helping to start a giant shitfest, sparked by some old lady's gummy vitamins, against a nineteen-year-old with someone as bad as me.”

But with the power to legitimately crush you, Shane adds in his mind. He swallows.

“Yeah, nineteen’s too old for you, isn’t it?"

“I thought we’re supposed to be talking about you, not me." he says. A little too sharply, Shane notices.

Greg sits back. "Someone’s a little cocky being dogpiled by the entire Internet with enough dirt to fill the Grand Canyon.” The corners of his mouth curl into a smirk. “And this time, it’s getting to you. I can see it.”

Shane shakes his head. “I can get through it, I don’t need you patronizing me. The stuff with Tati and James, Jeffree and I are—"

“I don’t mean your stupid beauty drama." He chuckles. "Hell, I don’t even mean just the worst shit you got yourself into. It’s _all_ getting to you. Everything. Ever since your channels were born.”

Shane didn't say anything, which he was certain did nothing but make Greg feel confident in his claims. 

“Why don’t you go ask your boy-toy to help you out?" Greg continues, his voice dripping with mockery, "Maybe he’ll send a few more supporting tweets? That could go real well."

Shane sent a hard glare his way and in a low voice, “Leave Ryland out of this, you little—“

“Because he’s already helped you _so_ much.”

“He was trying to defend me.”

“And look how successful that was. I’d say Jeffree Star’s doing a better job for you right now, isn’t he?”

Shane opens his mouth but nothing came out to argue anything on his behalf.

Just like Jeffree the past week. And this greasy man sitting next to him knows it as well as him.

"He's family," he says weakly, almost sounding like he’s trying to convince himself rather than Greg. Shane isn’t meeting his gaze and had decided to focus on the table instead.

"I've spoken more in your name than he ever will, even if it's a bunch of shit talk. So much for 'family'."

Shane clenches his jaw. Neither of them spoke, the silence occasionally broken by Greg drinking his kombucha.

“So what do you think I should do then?” he asks after a while. "Since you think you know me so well."

Greg pauses, contemplating for a few minutes.

Shane expects something like 'delete all your accounts', 'delete your channels', 'shit-talk Jeffree Star', or other things that he feels like would draw much more trouble than it's worth. Then he reminds himself that this was Onision he was asking for fucking advice. 

“Be honest for once,” Greg finally says.

He pushes the kombucha towards a confused Shane, whose eyes flicker between Greg’s face and the bottle. He shakes his head as he tries to understand what Greg wants him to do with it.

“I think you’re gross if you want me to drink that.”

“I meant be honest with _yourself_ , hon _,_ ” he says, the last word drenched in scorn.

Isn’t that what he’s been doing? Shane thinks as he reaches out and his fingers curl around the tinted glass bottle, bringing it closer to him.

And then he thinks back to everything everyone has pulled up on him. He thinks about all the things he's never brought up once in his apologies and the things that he hadn’t spent a second longer thinking about because he thought that it wouldn't matter in the long run-- and then, surprise, it did. The strings he's pulled, the narrative he's weaved, but then there's also new pieces of him being found by others, all coming together to create a version of himself that he didn't think would come to life until he realizes that it was who he is all this time. And it's something everyone can see in its full, terrible glory. 

He looks back at Greg, who's staring at him expectantly. No humor or amusement in his eyes. No smile on his face. He looks as tired as Shane had felt for the past God-knows-how-long. He almost looks sympathetic.

Almost.

Onision was, is, and will always be a burden of the Internet and society, as long as he is guaranteed the tiniest corner for him to screech from all he wants. And somehow, despite every single disgusting thing he’s ever done, despite every attempt to deplatform him from under his feet, he’s like any other gross cockroach after a nuclear explosion— managing to scuttle away, taking care of no one but himself, and continuing to live disaster after disaster. Perhaps it's because everyone just knows he's always been a cockroach, garbage has always been his home. Hell, even he knows it.

In a way, maybe that was how Jeffree survives under the wrath of the Internet all those years, Shane realizes. Because trouble has always been ingrained in his image since his MySpace days. It probably softens the blow to both the audience and yourself when most people aren't surprised you've been in all of the damn Dramageddons.

And maybe that's the kind of branding that he should have gone for. So that it shouldn't surprise anyone, or even himself, when the worst starts to leak through a thin persona. So that the fall from his pedestal wouldn't be so high to actually hurt. 

Greg's growing smile was almost inhuman.

Shane raises the bottle to his lips and gulps down the kombucha easily, washing away a more sour taste in his mouth— an acquired taste, indeed.

* * *

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he woke up. But Shane keeps lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling until Ryland calls him downstairs.

He walks down the steps, his hand gripping the banister.

He knows Ryland’s in the kitchen. Shane wonders if he’ll see the same man.

**Author's Note:**

> can't wait for this to age like milk lol


End file.
